


It Burns, It Burns My Eyes And Throat

by jackles67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackles67/pseuds/jackles67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no smooth way to ask your brother to teach you how to smoke a joint without coughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Burns, It Burns My Eyes And Throat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [katie](http://codependentbrothers.tumblr.com/) in her askbox when she asked for smut. (title near-randomly chosen from an AFI song shh shh).

There’s no smooth way to ask your brother to teach you how to smoke a joint without coughing so Sam doesn’t so much ask as he comes home late from school and puts the baggie on the table. When Dean comes in from the yard, sweaty and half covered in engine grease, he heads straight to the fridge for a beer and stops in his tracks. Sam grits his teeth and tries hard to ignore the blush he knows is staining his cheeks pink.

Dean raises an eyebrow, shifting his glance from the baggie to Sam and back, as if to say ‘this yours?’ and Sam shrugs, scuffing the shitty kitchen linoleum with his sneaker. Dean looks at the weed long and hard before giving a small shrug, casual, like this is no big deal, like Dad hasn’t warned them against drug use under ‘his’ roof since Sam was ten. Dean grabs his beer and the weed and they head outside.

“Where’d you get it?” Dean asks while he rolls them a joint. Sam watches carefully, mesmerized by way Dean’s thick, blunt fingers move, so sure and deft over translucent paper and sticky buds. “Don,” Sam replies when Dean shoots him a curious glance. Sam thinks he manages to pass it off as an attempt to learn how to roll. Sam takes a gulp of Dean’s beer to try and calm the way his nerves are dancing jittery under his skin.

Dean takes the first hit, puts it between his lips and god, Sam has a real live excuse to watch that. Dean takes the smoke deep in his lungs, holds, his chest hitching with a suppressed cough before he finally lets it curl out, slow and languid, up over his lips and cheeks to diffuse into the still, hot air. He holds the joint out to Sam and Sam takes it, careful not to let his fingers linger on Dean’s, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Sam manages to get the smoke all the way to the back of his throat before he coughs and hacks until it feels like his lungs are shredded. Dean rubs his back, a hot, heavy pressure that lights Sam up and calms him down all at once. He has to fight the urge to press back into that hand, to follow it until he’s got Dean’s hands elsewhere, everywhere. The next hit is worse and Dean offers Sam another sip of his beer.

“Here, let’s try something else,” Dean says, voice gravelly low and rougher than usual. His eyes are a little red, eyelids lowered to half mast and Sam can feel it too, the start of a buzz running up his spine, setting somewhere behind his eyes and making everything just a little bit softer, just a little less scary. Dean’s hand is back, curling around the back of Sam’s neck and it’s so right that Sam sighs a little while Dean takes another deep inhale.

Dean tugs Sam closer, that steady pressure pulling him in so easy and for a wild second Sam’s sure Dean’s going to kiss him, wet open lips tilted like they’re going to meet his and his stomach swoops hot and triumphant but Dean stops, inches away. He grunts and Sam looks at him confused until Dean’s hand comes around, thumb settling on Sam’s lower lip and push-pulling it open.

It clicks and Sam parts his lips, open and ready and when the smoke starts to stream from Dean’s mouth Sam takes it in, wants to taste it, wants to feel if it’s humid and hot from his big brother’s mouth and God, it burns but Sam wants it, wants all of it so he keeps taking it until Dean’s turning away, coughing into his sleeve and Sam’s frozen, blinking but not breathing, trying to hold it in. “Let it go, dude,” Dean rasps out, and Sam does.

He coughs a whole lot less this time but Dean still rubs his back, keeps his hand there while he takes another drag, pulls Sam even closer this time and Sam’s lips feel electrified, almost too sensitive and he swears just one brush from Dean’s plush lower lip is going to set his whole body on fire. He doesn’t realize he’s hard until Dean’s coughing and Sam’s holding it again. Something about the tension of holding his breath has him even harder.

“You wanna try?” Dean asks, holding out the joint and Sam nods, releasing the cloud of smoke and gulping down a lungful of clean air, feeling the lightheaded buzz intensify. Dean’s hand is still there, still warm and firm on Sam, grounding him, so Sam takes the hit and doesn’t cough. He curls into Dean’s body to get closer to his mouth, waits until Dean wets his lips and parts them before exhaling gently into Dean’s mouth.

They’re barely an inch apart and Dean shifts, inhaling, and suddenly they’re barely a hair’s width apart and fuck, Sam has to know, he just has to... So he closes the distance, just a quick brush, but it feels like the world stopped because Sam just kissed his brother and he has no idea what’s going to happen next but he does know that it was worth it because Dean’s lips are soft, plush and wet and Dean pushed closer, pressed harder, and that is worth everything.

Sam doesn’t realize his eyes are closed but when he does they fly open only to find gold-flecked green - a lawn that’s half dry, dandelions in the grass, fuck he's gotta to snap out of it - staring right back. “Sam?” It’s a cracked whisper and the hot puff of smoke that accompanies it brushes over Sam’s lips like a teasing kiss, like the gentlest touch and then he’s leaning back in and Dean fits his mouth over Sam’s but he doesn’t quite kiss him.

Dean exhales, slow and soft and Sam breathes it in, smoke that’s more breath than anything else, pulls away just to push it all out of his lungs, burn almost gone but the high is still there and he’s honestly not sure if it’s from the weed or Dean anymore but he doesn’t care, just wants more. Dean’s the one who tugs him back in to press their lips together, clumsy and maybe a little sloppy but so good, so right, exactly what Sam needs.

Sam manages to catch Dean’s bottom lip between his, to suck it into his mouth and sink his teeth in just enough to have Dean moan - and God, that’s a sound Sam will never scrub from his mind - and tighten his grip on Sam. Sam tugs on Dean’s lip a little and the next thing he knows, he’s on his back with Dean above him, pinning him, kneeling where Sam’s legs have fallen open. Dean leans in for a rough kiss, biting and running his tongue over Sam’s.

When Dean drops hips against Sam’s, just for a second, it’s like an explosion of sensation that sets his whole body vibrating. “You wanna?” Dean asks, rubbing against him again and the rough drag of denim on denim, the hard line of Dean’s cock against his own is almost too much for Sam but he nods like he’s drowning and manages to catch Dean’s lips against his, doesn’t let him get away again. It’s so much, lips and cock alight with sensation, but Sam doesn’t ever want it to stop.

Dean shifts a couple of times, finds a rhythm and starts to grind and thrust, down and over Sam’s cock with his own until they can’t focus enough to kiss, just pant each other’s air and hold on. Sam can feel Dean watching him fall apart and loves it, loves that Dean wants to see this, that this is turning Dean on. He hears himself moan and can’t hold it back, knows he’s going to come really fucking soon but all he can do is spread his legs further and cant his hips up for Dean.

“Dean,” Sam hears himself say and it’s a whimper and a plea and Dean just says “yeah” like he gets it, like he’s there too, and he crashes his mouth against Sam’s neck and bites down. The pain shoots straight down Sam’s spine and he’s shaking apart with it, hips shoving up against Dean erratically as his whole body tenses and he comes, wave after wave of hot pleasure crashing over him. “Oh God, Sammy, fuck Sam you - gonna -”

Dean comes, open mouth still pressed against Sam’s skin, one hand tight on Sam’s shoulder and the other gripping the grass under them hard enough to uproot it. He collapses beside Sam with a heavy sigh and Sam thinks he should be freaking out, should be terrified but he’s not. Maybe it’s the weed and maybe it’s the orgasm but all he can feel is an elated buzz. Dean’s breathing is still calming down but he’s not shoving Sam away, not calling him a freak and that's all Sam could ask for.

After a couple minutes of staring up at the sky and wondering when the sun got so low, Sam feels Dean wrap an arm around him and tug him in like they do when Sam has a nightmare. “That,” Dean starts, then clears his throat. “I’m - Did you - Was that a high thing?” Sam gets it, of course he does, but he grins into Dean’s shirt at the wording before he shakes his head. Dean makes a sound of surprise so Sam tilts his head up, looks up at Dean through his bangs suddenly shy.

Dean smiles, loopy but genuine and Sam giggles against him, pressing even closer, the feel of his brother’s body as safe and familiar as it is exhilaratingly new. They lay out in the yard as the sun goes down, warm september air filled with cricket song and the occasional passing car and Sam doesn’t care that this might be sick, he doesn’t care that the come in his underwear is growing tacky, doesn’t care about anything but this. This is everything.

By the time they make it inside, they’ve sobered up and Sam’s starting to worry Dean’ll take it all back, that it’ll be unbearably awkward between them but Dean just gives him a noogie before wrapping him up in his arms and kissing him until Sam’s grinding his sticky cock against Dean through their clothes and Dean’s half laughing, half grinding back and they have time to find out what it’s like without the layers of clothes before passing together out in Dean’s bed. 


End file.
